


Begin Again

by DreamsAreHardWork



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M, Meet-Cute, Post-Finale, Season 3 Finale, artist!Clary, human!clary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreHardWork/pseuds/DreamsAreHardWork
Summary: Warning: This will probably not make sense if you haven't seen the Season 3 finale.How Clary met Jace for the first time (again). (Or how I would have written their reintroduction scene.)





	Begin Again

“Thanks!”

Clary shot a grateful grin at the blonde barista behind the counter. She shrugged her bag up higher on her shoulder before reaching out and cradling the hot ceramic mug between her fingers, taking a sip of the perfectly brewed latte before it could spill over the rim and scald her fingers. 

With one last smile to the barista she turned and carefully wove her way between the wicker chairs and glass tables that cluttered the floor of La Vida Café, her go to coffee shop, aiming for the table tucked in the back corner out of the way of most of the foot traffic.

Thanks to its location it was usually empty and today was no exception.

The ceramic clinked as she set the coffee mug down on the table before slinging her bag over the shoulder of the chair and settling down. With the way the chair was angled she could see every corner of the shop, and nobody could come up behind her. 

Ever since that cold November night last year when she’d found herself on the outskirts of Central Park in nothing more than a thin red dress with no clear memory of how she’d gotten there she’d been jumpy. Her eyes instinctively sought out the dark corners of any room she was in, searching the depths for some hidden menace. When strangers approached her something in her gut caused her to tense up, to look for noticeable bulges under their jackets or a threatening look in their eyes. She’d also become inexplicably obsessed with tattoos and often found herself closely examining stranger’s tattoos from afar, looking for some meaning she herself didn’t understand.

She couldn’t imagine what had happened that night, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. All she could do was try and move on. So, she threw herself into her art, creating sketches and paintings with such depth of feeling that they drew praise from instructors across all fields at the Art Institute. So much so that she’d been offered a spot for one of her pieces at the prestigious end of year show case.

It was an unheard of honor for a freshman to be offered such an opportunity, but the problem was that Clary had no idea what to draw for the piece. Every time she tried to sit down with a pencil or paintbrush her mind went blank and she ended up with a meaningless mess on the page.

She’d finally given up working in the studio after pulling an all-nighter with nothing to show for her efforts and had instead decided to come over to the coffee shop in the hopes that some fresh air and caffeine would spark her inspiration.

Given her frustration last night, she wasn’t expecting much when she plugged in an earbud, switching on her playlist, and set her sketchbook on the table.

She leaned back, examining the room as she savored her coffee. Her mind drifted as her gaze moved among her fellow coffee shop patrons. 

There was an older looking man with a stack of books up to his head and wire framed glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose. Probably a professor at the liberal arts college around the corner.

A pair of women sat at one of the window tables, both cradling small children in their laps. The dark circles under their eyes belied their exhaustion, but the smiles on their faces suggested that it was all worth it.

A young man sat fidgeting nervously at an otherwise empty table, with two drinks in front of him. With his prim button up shirt and slicked back hair Clary guessed he was waiting for a date. Not five seconds later she was proven right as a trim brunette walked through the door and headed straight for her date with an apologetic smile. She must have been running late then. 

Clary smiled softly, remembering a time when running late for a date was a world ending catastrophe. Now a days dating just didn’t seem to have any appeal.

As she watched the young couple settle into their seats she set her coffee down and almost unconsciously picked up the pencil and began to draw. Beneath her touch a scene began to take place. A man and a woman stood together. His hands were on her hips, hers on his chest. Their eyes were locked, and their lips parted as if gasping for breath. Sparring gear lay scattered around their feet. But as the image came together it was clear that this was no ordinary couple. For glowing symbols covered their skin, bathing the air around them in light and casting deep shadows over their features. It was an impossible scene. But somehow it felt so real to her.

She was so engrossed in her drawing that she didn’t notice her coffee growing cold or her fingers cramping. It wasn’t until a soft noise broke through her concentration that she looked up, startling when she was confronted with an athletic-looking man dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket standing in front of her. His face was contoured, sharp jaw covered in a just-barely-there layer of hair. A fine nose lead up to intense eyes that varied in color between the browns of a deep, dark wood and a blue reminiscent of the summer sky. A few strands of wheat colored hair had sprung loose from where they had been tucked behind his ear and were instead draped rakishly across his forehead.   
He was gorgeous, and Clary’s breath caught.

She realized he must have been trying to get her attention when he smiled apologetically at her eye contact.

She pulled out the earbud as he spoke. “Sorry, would you mind sharing a table? This one’s the only one with an empty chair.”

His voice. His voice felt like it reached into her brain, calling at memories that she hadn’t even known existed, that she couldn’t even fully visualize. It was like her body recognized him, even though her brain couldn’t connect the dots. Did she know him?

The man cocked an eyebrow at her silence, and she blushed, realizing that she’d been staring at him without responding. 

“Oh of course!”

The man just smiled, expression far to gentle to be aimed at a complete stranger. His fingers grazed the back of her hand as he took a seat.

“Thanks. My name’s Jace.”


End file.
